Blogroll

Poem X

Let me tell you about the letter X. How it marks the spots I have left behind me. Long lost treasures for others to have and to hold. Wow, some trails can express remarkable colors and patterns. If you wave the past in front of your face over and over again it repeats itself in stunted intervals. I would like to throw all these tenacious traces over my shoulder and shove off into my nearest future. Let’s burn every map to ashes to resist crossing over the same paths. I’m telling you repetitions happen without permissions, without excuses. No X I’ve written or read felt the same until I turned round and round three or four times and spun back and looked again and see only X X X X X lining up in reckless nonlinear orders—as if order matters when each looks like the last and next. Let me tell you, the letter X has the shortest section in the dictionary, the fewest words inspired from it. Let me tell you how not all Xs are created equal yet once you’ve rolled it around in your mouth they all taste and sound the same—or don’t say a word. So many words don’t start with X. And those that end there, well, I’d rather not start that sort of litany. I already feel sprained in those places. Let me tell you, when explaining the rights and the wrongs Xs cross over the wrongs and also fit onto forms to mark yes, yes that’s mine or is me. Xs have a slew of uses and misuses and make a sharp sound that tickles my throat. Let me tell you, X keeps cropping up when I’d rather it not. X marks attempts I work at erasing, erase where an X could go. X don’t go here, don’t go there, don’t sit in my rearview and make faces, don’t follow my lead or be a reflection of me. Me and my X X X X Xs looking all smug but not saying a word. If they don’t talk and I don’t talk then no listening will get done. Well, like I said, very few words start with X. And those that end there—sheesh.